


for heaven's sake

by thisapathy



Series: come sink into me and let me breathe you in [7]
Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Angst, Drabble, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Post-Break Up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-09
Updated: 2016-04-09
Packaged: 2018-06-01 00:43:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6494137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisapathy/pseuds/thisapathy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Carl steps between Daryl and the counter. He lifts his gaze first to find Daryl looking away. "I don't blame you," Carl shrugs. "I don't like looking at me either."</p>
            </blockquote>





	for heaven's sake

**Author's Note:**

> set post-Denise's death before Daryl goes out after Dwight and gets his dumb ass captured

_pull yourself together_  
_before you set yourself apart_

*

He should've known better than to try to redo his bandage himself. With Denise gone, he has no other choice. She'd shown him how, of course, multiple times. It's proving to be a nearly impossible task. He'd ask Rick but they're not really talking. At all. He'd ask Michonne but she's not around. He doesn't trust them not to freak out anyway; they've both seen it right after it happened but when Carl takes the bandage and looks at himself in the mirror daily, he still wants to throw up a little.

His arms hurt from trying for so long and he drops them in defeat. "Damn it. Fuck!"

"Carl?" Carl freezes at the sound of Daryl's voice. As far as he knew, he was alone in the house--apparently not. He doesn't answer but he reaches out to close the bathroom door. Footsteps approach. "Carl." Not a question, a statement. "You alright?"

"I'm fine," Carl spits, glaring at his fucked up face in the mirror and sighing. Fucking Ron. Fucking _Michonne_. If she hadn't fucking stabbed Ron, he'd still be here. Carl would still have his eye. Yeah, Rick would maybe be dead but in all honesty it wouldn't make a difference to Carl right now. It's not like they're talking anyway. Carl doesn't hear footsteps anymore. He's pretty sure Daryl is still on the other side of the door. "I'm fine," he repeats, somewhat calmer.

"You need help?"

How the hell does Daryl know? Carl weighs his options: stay in the bathroom and wait for Michonne to come home and fume silently in her presence as she wraps the bandage under his hair because she's taken the spot in Rick's life that Carl once filled or let Daryl help him and see him all vulnerable and emotional and gross. He opts for the latter. He opens the door with his head down. "Yeah."

Daryl comes in and closes the door. He washes his hands thoroughly.

"I thought I was alone," Carl murmurs. His head is still tilted down, seemingly frozen. He doesn't really want Daryl to see him like this.

"I was lookin' for Carol," Daryl says, drying his hands on a fluffy white towel. "C'mon."

Carl steps between Daryl and the counter. He lifts his gaze first to find Daryl looking away. "I don't blame you," Carl shrugs. "I don't like looking at me either."

"Ain't that."

He watches slowly as Daryl turns his head to look. His face softens, almost, with sympathy or something like it. Silently, Daryl strips off his vest. His fingers work quickly on his sleeveless black shirt and he slides it off his shoulders almost in slow motion. He turns to the side and splashed across his back are faded, decades old scars from whippings, Carl guesses. He's not really surprised, knowing where Daryl and Merle came from. He's just surprised that Daryl picked him to be the one to show. He touches one of them gently. Daryl doesn't flinch but Carl drops his hand anyway.

Daryl replaces his shirt and vest, hair hanging in his eyes. He steps behind Carl again and Carl picks up his square bandage, holding it over his wound. Daryl grabs the long strip and gently places it over his eye, wrapping it around his head.

"You're tough as nails, kid."

The image of crying alone last night over the whole Rick thing flashes through Carl's mind. "Not really."

"Nah, you are. You just don't see it 'cause you're too close."

"And 'cause Ron blew off half my face on accident. He wasn't even aiming for me. He was aiming for Rick. It's Michonne's fault. She stabbed him and the gun went off. Sometimes I wish it would've gotten my dad instead."

"That's heavy shit." 

"It's true," Carl shrugs. "That's good." He reaches back and fixes his hair, pulling a few strands out to conceal the white bandage. "Thanks, Daryl."

Daryl nods and Carl catches his gaze in the mirror. Daryl squeezes Carl's shoulder, his hand lingering longer than necessary. "You're gonna make it," Daryl promises. Carl owes it to Daryl to at least try.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading ♥ all kudos and comments are much appreciated


End file.
